


Faraway, So Close

by skyblue_reverie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyblue_reverie/pseuds/skyblue_reverie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a classified mission, Leonard has to pick up all of Chris's broken pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faraway, So Close

Chris was in a medical gown, sitting on a biobed, and yet despite the inherent indignity of the situation, he somehow still managed to exude an air of confident command. Leonard would never understand how he did it. That aura was something the best Starfleet officers had in spades, and Chris had always been one of Starfleet's best officers.

Which made it doubly infuriating that Starfleet had taken Chris's loyalty and used it for their own purposes without thought for the cost to Chris. Or, of course, to Leonard.

He turned away from the one-way observation window to look at Dr. Qi'Roth. _Commodore_ Qi'Roth, because there was no way in hell he was granting this asshole the status of a healer, even in his own mind.

"What the _hell_ did you do to him?"

Qi'Roth raised an eyebrow ridge. "Nothing he didn't consent to, I assure you."

"Which tells me less than nothing, because he would've agreed to anything you asked, if you told him it was necessary for the good of the Federation," Leonard shot back.

He probably shouldn't be giving this much lip to a superior officer, but the truth was that Leonard was scared, and he tended to lash out when he was scared. Chris was always trying to get him to channel his fear into "a more useful response than anger," for the good of his career. Which brought him back to Chris, and right now he didn't give a good goddamn about his career.

Because the thing was, that wasn't Chris in there. Oh, it was, physically at least, but in every other way... He turned away from Qi'Roth, gritted his teeth. "He doesn't even know me," he ground out.

That hurt worst of all. Two hours earlier, he'd gotten a vidcomm from HQ, letting him know that after nearly six months of absence -- a period without any contact whatsoever -- Chris was back on earth and that Leonard's presence was required at Starfleet Intelligence, where Chris was being held under observation. Naturally, they wouldn't give him any details at all over commlink.

He'd raced over as fast as he could, breaking just about every traffic law in existence, he was sure, and upon arriving and being told that he had to wait, he'd used his rank, his status as a doctor, and his very forceful personality to bully his way in to see Chris.

Upon seeing him alive, and apparently healthy, his first words had been, "Chris, thank god."

Chris had just raised one elegant eyebrow in that _way_ he had, and had said "I'm sorry, do I know you, Doctor...?" with a faint question in his voice.

Leonard had been speechless. There was no way in hell it was a joke. Jim might conceivably try to pull that kind of juvenile prank, but not Chris. And besides -- once he'd looked closer, he could see... differences. This Chris had a hardness in his eyes. A cynical, secretive, distrustful look that _his_ Chris had never worn, not even with people he knew were his enemies (and you didn't make Admiral without garnering a few, Chris always said).

Just then, though, Qi'Roth had come in and hustled Leonard out of the room, ignoring both Leonard's vociferous protests and Chris's coolly amused gaze.

And now here he was, staring at Chris through a one-way mirror, with Chris looking seemingly straight into his eyes, obviously aware that he was being observed.

He turned back to Qi'Roth. "I want some goddamned answers, and I want them _now_."

Qi'Roth heaved a put-upon sigh. "That _is_ why you were summoned here, and if you'd waited for me, instead of barging around like a clumsy bear, we could have avoided this unpleasantness. Now follow me."

Leonard could feel his eyebrows bolting for the top of his forehead, and he so _badly_ wanted to rip this supercilious jerk a new one, but for Chris's sake, he restrained himself and followed along with clenched jaw as Qi'Roth led the way down a featureless hallway and into another room.

There was a single table in the center of the room. Leonard settled himself on one side, opposite Qi'Roth, and waited, pointedly silent, for the explanation to begin. Qi'Roth looked directly at Leonard and began to speak.

"Eight years ago, Vulcan was destroyed. As you know, the damage to the people and the culture of Vulcan went far beyond that wrought by the initial blast. You consulted with Dr. T'Parr on her research on _s'vith'eln_ , correct?"

" _S'vith'eln_ \-- yeah, the madness. That was the term she coined to describe Vulcans who were so overwhelmed with grief that they retreated into a permanent dissociative state or else shut down their autonomic functions completely, a particularly elegant form of suicide. What's that got to do with anything?"

Qi'Roth hesitated. "Doctor, I must remind you of your duty to Starfleet in maintaining absolute confidentiality of classified information -- "

"Good god, man! I know about my goddamned duties! Out with it." He was seriously going to start tearing heads off if he didn't get some answers, right the hell now.

Qi'Roth nodded. "Recently, Starfleet Intelligence discovered indications of another manifestation of _s'vith'eln_. It is a type of madness akin to that suffered by Nero himself. It causes the affected Vulcan to blame humanity for the failure to save Vulcan, and to wish to destroy the Federation as revenge for the destruction of Vulcan. Further, there was evidence that a group of Vulcan scientists had been so affected, and were on the brink of re-discovering the formula for red matter.

"When Starfleet contacted the Vulcan authorities about this intelligence, they were met with complete non-cooperation. Vulcan leadership insisted that this manifestation of _s'vith'eln_ did not exist, and that for any Vulcan to subscribe to these illogical beliefs was simply impossible."

Leonard snorted. "Yeah, I can just picture those blank-faced bastards denying the obvious to their dying breath, because it's not 'logical.' Smug, superior jackasses."

Qi'Roth spoke sharply. "Doctor McCoy, this is neither the time nor the place for your xenophobic remarks. Do you wish to hear how this affects Admiral Pike or not?"

Leonard felt his face flare with heat, felt his heart pumping harder at the accusation. He stifled it, though, tamped it down with nothing more than a glare at Qi'Roth, as he waited for further information.

"Without the assistance of the Vulcan High Council, we were forced to resort to other methods of information-gathering. A covert operation, to put it bluntly. We needed to place an undercover agent. Of course, the agent would have to meet several highly specific qualifications. It would have to be someone whose reputation was beyond reproach, with no suspicion of prior involvement with Starfleet Intelligence and yet who had the requisite skills and abilities, and someone who had the kind of high-level connections and access that the Vulcans would need in order to carry out their plans."

"Chris," said Leonard flatly.

"Just so." Qi'Roth nodded. "The complication, of course, was the Vulcans' touch telepathy. A standard undercover agent, however well-trained, would be discovered immediately. The operative we placed would have to actually _become_ the traitor they were portraying. It was the only way."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"We programmed Admiral Pike to believe that he actually desired to betray the Federation by working with the renegade Vulcan faction."

"You can't program a person like a goddamn computer, Commodore. What _exactly_ did you do to him?"

"To put it crudely, brainwashing. It's an ancient technique, but I believe you are familiar with the term, Doctor."

McCoy's voice came out in a harsh rasp he barely recognized as his own. "That's barbaric."

"I don't disagree with you, Dr. McCoy. But it was necessary. When we explained the situation to Admiral Pike, he volunteered for the procedure. In fact, he was quite insistent."

The hell of it was that McCoy had no doubt that Qi'Roth was telling the truth. He could just picture Chris demanding to be tortured, broken, his beautiful bright mind twisted in service to the Federation. He'd feel regret over what it would do to Leonard, but not enough to make him hesitate. It wasn't a thought Leonard wanted to dwell on.

He scrubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "So what was the plan for getting him back, and what went wrong?" Obviously something had, or Leonard wouldn't be here. If everything had gone right, Chris would have come home and never said a word about his time away, and Leonard would never have even known any of this had happened.

Qi'Roth's voice was oddly gentle. "Dr. McCoy, there _was_ no retrieval plan. The odds of success were slim, the odds of survival practically none. Admiral Pike was implanted with a subcutaneous transmitter, and our hope was that we would pick up enough evidence to convince the Vulcan High Council to assist us in further investigations before the traitors discovered the signal and killed him."

McCoy was sure his heart had stopped beating. His mind processed the words, but he didn't want to accept them. He knew, though, instinctively _knew_ , that it was the truth. The way Chris had made love to him the night before leaving for his classified mission, the way he'd said goodbye to him the next morning. Looking back, it was clear that Chris had never planned on returning.

He squeezed his eyes shut, dug his fingernails into his palms. He _would_ control himself right now. He could fall apart later.

"What happened?" He asked, and he noted distantly that his voice sounded sure and steady.

"He succeeded, Dr. McCoy. He succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. He gained the trust of the Vulcan traitors so rapidly, and transmitted so much evidence so quickly, that we were able to convince the High Council of the truth of our suspicions and extract Admiral Pike before the traitors even discovered the transmitter. They have all been detained and the threat of red matter in the hands of terrorists -- a threat which was much more imminent than we had realized -- has been neutralized."

"He's always been a charismatic son of a bitch," McCoy said.

Qi'Roth remained silent.

"So now what?" McCoy finally asked.

"This was a contingency we didn't plan for. But we hoped that with your help, there might be a way to..."

"What, fix him? You know how difficult deprogramming is. You know that the odds of ever restoring him to the person he was are astronomically low."

"Yes, I do know that. I also know, Dr. McCoy, that if anyone has a chance of succeeding, it is you. You were the last thing he held onto, the part of him that was most difficult to break. If anyone can reach him, bring him back, you can."

"And what if I can't?"

"Then he will have to be confined, for the remainder of his natural life."

McCoy looked away from Qi'Roth's too-understanding gaze. This was too damned much for anyone to absorb at once.

"Doctor, if you do not wish to undertake this, if you do not feel capable of it, for whatever reason, no one will blame you. Alternative arrangements have been made. You are under no obligation -- "

"Good god, man, of course I'm going to do it. I'm going to try, anyway. I don't think I have a snowball's chance in hell of succeeding, but I'm damn well going to try." As if there'd ever been a choice in the matter.

Qi'Roth nodded. "Very well, then. Admiral Pike will be transported to his ranch in the Mojave under high security. You will meet him there. He will be fitted with a tracker implanted in his liver, impossible to remove. You will be fitted with a biomonitor, equally impossible to remove. He will be made aware that if he attempts to leave, or if any harm should befall you, he will spend the rest of his life in a distant penal colony under... highly unpleasant conditions."

"House arrest, huh?"

"Indeed. Admiral Pike is an intelligent man. He will realize that this is by far the more desirable of his two options. We will have Starfleet security stationed in the nearest town, ready to deploy at a moment's notice if there is any difficulty whatsoever."

A feeling very like despair was overtaking him. Mixed with it was anger -- that Chris would do this to them, would throw away everything they had without a backward glance. He shoved it down, looked grimly at Qi'Roth. "I guess that's the best we can do. When do we start?"

***

All in all, it was nearly three weeks before Chris could be transported to the ranch in Mojave. Three weeks during which Leonard watched the vids of everything that had been done to Chris. Watched Chris taunting the intelligence agents and doctors assigned to brainwash him, telling them that he could take more, that they didn't need to coddle him like a three-year-old. Turning on the arrogance, daring them to do worse, even when his voice was a barely-there husk from lack of water and sleep. He was making it easier for them to do this awful thing to him, Leonard knew. Even as he was sacrificing mind and body for the lives of these people, he was trying to do it in a way that would salve their conscience as much as possible. It was so _Chris_ that Leonard's heart broke.

In between watching vids that would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life, he explored the property, taking long walks past rock formations and cacti and desert wildflowers that frankly all looked the same to him. He'd never really liked it here, even aside from the memories he associated with this place.

Chris always swore that the Mojave had its own stark beauty, here where everything was stripped to its essence. Leonard didn't _like_ things that were stripped to their essence. He liked things that were lush and full of life, healthy and growing. He had to admit, though, that there was a poetic appropriateness to attempting this -- whatever he was going to do with Chris -- in this harsh environment. And if there was anywhere on this earth that could soothe Chris, help him heal, it was this place where he'd grown up.

In the nights, when it was too dark to walk and he couldn't bear to watch the vids and yet sleep was impossible, he researched. He read up on brainwashing, deprogramming, mind-control and "thought reform." They were all variations on a theme and some of the techniques designed to free a person from the stranglehold of brainwashing were as abhorrent as the ones used to brainwash them in the first place.

A dozen times, he started to comm Jim to ask him for his advice, and to share this burden, before he remembered that what had happened was classified above Jim's level and that sending details about it via sub-space communications probably wasn't very wise in any case.

And then, when he was about to go crazy with the waiting, and yet still somehow before he was remotely ready for it, Chris was arriving, being escorted from a hover-car by blank-faced Federation guards who gave Leonard the shivers. They flanked Chris as he strode, self-assured as always, toward the open front door where Leonard was standing.

"Well, hello, Doctor. I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Christopher Pike, and I understand that you're Leonard McCoy, my alleged boyfriend."

"Fiancé." Leonard wasn't sure what impulse had made him say that -- it was true, but they'd never made it public, never even discussed specifics of formalizing it, but the knowledge had been there between them, the promise of _always_ , and right now Leonard would cling to whatever he could.

Chris's eyebrows climbed, but the look on his face was one of faint amusement. "Fiancé, then. I see you've made yourself at home. May I come in? I'm a bit thirsty from the trip."

Leonard stepped aside and Chris swept past him. It shouldn't be a shock, and yet, it was. And it hurt, so damned much. So much more than he thought it could, that there was not a single flicker of emotion in Chris's gray-blue eyes.

One of Chris's guards was talking to him now, though, and he forced himself to focus on the woman.

"We'll be leaving now. We're releasing him into your custody, Dr. McCoy. We're staying nearby, though, and if anything goes wrong on your biomonitor, or if you push the panic button you were given, we'll be here immediately."

Leonard nodded and the two officers departed, as silently and efficiently as they'd arrived. He closed the front door and turned toward the interior of the house. Time to face the music.

He found Chris in the kitchen, gulping down a glass of sweet tea. Once the glass was empty, Chris set it down with a thunk and then grimaced. "That was disgusting."

"Yeah, I know, too much sugar, not enough mint. If I'd known you were coming today, I'd have made it the way you like."

"You've done your homework, Doctor. Or should I call you Leonard? Leo? Len? Sweetheart? Love-muffin? Help me out here."

The scorn was rapier-sharp. He swallowed against the sting of it. Rule number one was to develop rapport. If he had any hope at all of succeeding, he had to do that. Trouble was, he had no idea _how_. Rapport-building had never been very high on his priority list as a doctor.

"Leonard'll do," he finally managed.

"Well, Leonard, you're really quite attractive, but I'm afraid you're not my type at all. If Starfleet's hoping to convince me that I have a long-lost love and a life I've forgotten, they didn't choose very carefully."

Leonard barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, overbearing, arrogant, too-goddamned-good-at-everything, self-sacrificing heroes aren't exactly my type, so imagine my surprise when I ended up with you."

Chris grinned, and for the first time that day -- for the first time in nearly eight months -- Leonard could see a glimmer of the man he loved. He ached to reach out and take Chris into his arms. Then Chris spoke and the moment was shattered. "You've got a sense of humor, though, and that's always a bonus. So, do I get to test-drive the merchandise?" He added an obvious once-over of Leonard's body, as if his meaning hadn't been clear enough.

Leonard gritted his teeth and looked away. "No, you don't get to test-drive the goddamned _merchandise_."

"You know, I _do_ remember you." There was genuine surprise in his tone and Len turned back sharply. "I signed you up for Starfleet. You were the one who showed up at the shipyard, drunk and disheveled and demanding to be let onto the 'goddamned' shuttle for 'goddamned' new recruits. Soon as I realized who you were, I knew I couldn't let a doctor of your caliber get away, so I waived the application process and made sure you got onboard."

Leonard nodded, his heart in his throat. "Yeah, that's right. You remember anything else?"

There was a flicker of something in Chris's eyes, but he just said, "No, that's it. Now, I've been told in no uncertain terms that I'm to cooperate with you, so you tell me, _Leonard_ , what now?"

He had no idea. Rapport, he reminded himself. "Uh, let's go sit in the living room." Chris led the way -- to make a point, no doubt -- and settled himself into the large leather armchair like a king in his castle. Leonard sat on the sofa and an uncomfortable silence developed.

Well, _he_ was uncomfortable at least. Chris looked completely at ease and content to just sit there, gazing at Leonard with a slight challenge in his eyes.

"So... how was your trip?" Leonard asked and then winced. Could he be any more awkward?

Chris smirked. "You're really not very good at establishing rapport, are you?"

Leonard looked at him in astonishment and Chris laughed. "You think you're the only one who knows about deprogramming techniques? I was studying Giambalvo's work when you were still a baby in your mother's arms."

"I'm not _that_ much younger than you," Leonard grumbled.

Chris ignored this. "First, you establish rapport. Ideally, some level of trust. Then you provide me with evidence that my memories and beliefs are false. We discuss the evidence, you answer any questions I have, assuage my doubts and provide yet more evidence to support your assertions. I begin to question myself. You offer compassion, understanding, and the chance to talk about what I'm going through. Through all this, I have no contact with the outside world. My only source of human interaction is with you, my captor. When I cooperate with you, I'm rewarded psychologically with praise and approval. When I resist, I'm treated like a wayward child, forced to review the 'evidence' that contradicts my memories, possibly even punished by the withholding of privileges like time outdoors. Eventually I have a breakthrough and I realize the error of my ways, and then you, having gained my complete trust by this point, help me to reconnect with my 'true' memories and ease my way back into my 'real' life. Did I leave anything out?"

Leonard was silent. Of course he hadn't left anything out. Chris was nothing if not thorough, and he'd always applied his fierce intelligence to learning anything and everything that would help him become a better Starfleet officer.

"Of course, even if the procedure is followed closely and the deprogrammer excels at applying these techniques," and here there was a sardonic look aimed at Leonard, "the chance of success is vanishingly small. Let me ask, what do you plan to do if it doesn't work?"

Leonard let his head drop against the back of the sofa, stared at the ceiling. "Hell if I know," he said. How had he thought that he could do this? Good lord, he'd been a fool. He could feel tears welling up, forced them back. He raised his head again and looked straight at Chris. "About the only thing I do know is that I love you, and I'd do anything for you, Chris. Anything."

Chris was obviously taken aback. Well, at least he'd managed to surprise him. It didn't happen often. Chris stood abruptly. "I'm going to go take a shower now. We'll talk again later."

Leonard didn't move from the sofa. He heard Chris moving around upstairs, heard the shower running for several minutes and then cutting off. A few minutes after that, he heard the creak of the stairs and Chris was standing in front of him again, now barefoot, in jeans and a faded t-shirt. Somehow, in his off-duty clothes, with his hair still wet, Chris appeared almost vulnerable, and Leonard's heart clenched.

"You're in my bedroom," Chris said flatly, and Leonard nearly informed him that no, he was in the living room, before he caught onto Chris's meaning. Shit, he hadn't even thought about that. They'd shared the master bedroom when they'd stayed here before.

"Damn it, Chris, I'm sorry. I'll move my things into one of the guest rooms."

"Don't bother. It doesn't matter. I'll take the room I had growing up. Probably give you a bit of a psychological edge, and you need all the help you can get." With that parting shot, he disappeared back upstairs.

Chris avoided him for the rest of the afternoon, and Leonard let him. He needed something to do, though, so he busied himself making eggplant and sausage lasagna, one of Chris's favorites. He made it from scratch, chopping vegetables from the hydroponic greenhouse in the back, rolling out the pasta dough with an antique wooden rolling pin. It was soothing to have something to do with his hands, something that kept him occupied enough that he didn't have to think about anything else.

While the lasagna was baking, he put together a green salad, whisked up a balsamic vinaigrette, and then hulled a basket of strawberries and set them aside to macerate in sugar and orange liqueur.

Before they'd started their relationship, Chris had never been very interested in food beyond its function as fuel for his body, and had certainly never been a cook. It was one of the few arenas where Leonard was the undisputed master between them. Leonard liked -- really, _really_ liked -- being the teacher for once, and Chris had patiently followed his instructions, bearing it with good grace when Leonard corrected his knife technique or brusquely told him to wash his goddamn hands, yes, _again_ , since he'd gone and picked up the dishrag that Leonard had just used to wipe up raw egg from the counter.

He was so lost in memories that he didn't notice when Chris came into the kitchen, until his honey-dipped baritone cut across Leonard's reverie.

"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?"

"Something like that," he said, continuing to wash dishes even though he could feel Chris's gaze digging holes into his back.

"Hate to tell you this, but I've never been one for gourmet food."

"Not until you met me, you weren't," Leonard agreed.

"Looks like you know your way around the kitchen, at any rate." Leonard wasn't sure if Chris meant kitchens in general, or this kitchen in particular, but either way it was true, so he just nodded.

"Need any help there?" Chris tossed the question out with careless ease, but Leonard knew him well enough to recognize there was something behind it. He was in full charm-and-analyze mode, a facade he often took on at events where he wanted to find out about people without letting much slip himself.

Still, he had nothing to hide, and at least Chris was speaking to him. Civilly. So he gestured with his head to the dishtowel hanging on its hook and said, "Yeah, you can dry and put away."

They worked together in companionable silence, and Leonard could almost let himself believe that none of this nightmare had ever happened. And then even that tenuous illusion was gone as Chris asked, "How long have we been together?"

"Ah, nearly eight years. After the Narada, I helped with your physical rehab during the months the Enterprise was being refitted. We started seeing each other, and then when I shipped out with Jim -- Jim Kirk, my best friend -- you and I wrote to each other, saw each other whenever I was earthside. After the five-year mission was up, Jim practically ordered me off the ship, told me to transfer to a posting at HQ and settle down with you. You seemed to agree that it was a fine idea. So I did. We've been living together for the last three years."

"Hmm," was Chris's only comment. "And when did we get engaged?"

Leonard cleared his throat. This part was harder to talk about. "A year ago, almost exactly. I, um, I was diagnosed with a terminal illness about eighteen months ago. I wasn't expected to live out the year, and no one could do anything about it. So you brought me here, and you took care of me, for the next six months. It's not a pretty disease, and, well, you've probably heard that doctors make the worst patients. I'm no exception. But you put up with me through all of it -- bathing me, helping me use the bathroom, feeding me when I could eat, giving me IV supplements when I couldn't. I know it was six long months of hell for you, watching me waste away, not being able to fix it, by the end not even able to make me comfortable. You used to sit in bed next to me and read to me for hours. Then, when you thought I'd fallen asleep, you'd put the book aside, put your head in your hands, and cry. Sometimes you'd curse God for letting this happen to me. I've never told you that I knew about that."

Leonard blinked rapidly, and scrubbed a plate with unnecessary ferocity. When he was fairly sure he could speak without his voice wavering, he continued. "Anyway. Jim and Spock pulled some kinda miracle out of their asses, and they really waited until the last possible damn moment this time. We both thought I was a goner. We'd said our goodbyes. You told me you loved me. Seven years we'd been together, and you'd never said it. I already knew you did, but you'd never said the words. But it was only a matter of hours, then, and I guess you figured you weren't going to have another chance.

"I'd just told you that I loved you too, when suddenly it sounded like the sky had fallen in. I swear to god, the entire house shook. You just grabbed my hand tighter and told me that you didn't care if it was the apocalypse, you weren't leaving my side. Turned out it was Jim, landing the goddamn Galileo in the front yard because it was the fastest way to get here once the Enterprise was in range of Earth.

"He and Spock busted down the front door -- well, they vaporized it with their phasers -- then came pelting in here, Jim yelling about ambassadors and cures and someone named Natira. It was pretty chaotic, and I was pretty out of it. That's about all I remember until a week later, when I woke up to you and Jim fighting about who would stay and watch me and who would go get some rest. You both looked like death warmed over. I asked if I got any say in the matter, and I swear I've never seen the two of you shut up so fast. The noise you made when you turned and saw me awake, Chris. It was like a wounded animal. Then you were by my side, holding me, and you said you loved me, and that you were never letting me get away again. Jim was crying too, not that he'd ever admit it, and he bitched me out for scaring him so bad.

"A week later, you took me out on the balcony at sunset -- I could barely walk still -- and you sat me down in a chair, then you got down on one knee and asked me to marry you. That's it."

It wasn't, of course, not by a long shot. It didn't begin to convey how he'd felt, how happy and just plain _relieved_ both of them had been, knowing that this wasn't the end, that they'd been given another chance. How they'd both sworn not to waste it. And how damn good it had been between them, from that point until the day Starfleet had come calling again. But he couldn't talk about those things. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He realized that Chris was still silent, and he risked a glance, only to see Chris looking back at him with a strange, contemplative look on his face. "Well, Leonard, that's quite a melodramatic story."

Leonard rinsed off the last spoon, set it to dry on the dishrack. He shrugged. "Lasagna's done. Why don't you set the table, and I'll serve it up."

They ate in silence, although Chris did make a few appreciative noises at the food. When they'd finished, Chris spoke. "Let's take it as read that rapport's been established and move on to the next stage. Where's your evidence that everything I know and remember is false?"

Leonard blinked at this abrupt shift. Chris was good at keeping people off balance when it suited him. Still, over the years he'd become pretty good at rolling with the punches.

"I've got the datachips up in the bedroom. The vids of your brainwashing sessions, the notes your interrogators made, your own verified and witnessed consent to the procedure. Plus some things I took from our place in San Francisco -- holos of us, letters, things like that. Nothing that couldn't be faked given the time and resources." No point in trying to hide that fact, not that it would've escaped Chris anyway. Probably better that he be the one to raise it, actually.

Chris tapped his fingers on the table. "Well, I'll review it all, but as you pointed out, it doesn't really prove anything. And Leonard, I already know you're lying about our engagement."

Leonard felt his eyebrows raise. The engagement? Out of everything, that was what Chris zeroed in on? "Why do you doubt that part in particular?" he asked cautiously.

But Chris refused to be drawn out. "Doesn't matter. I just know it's not true."

He was too tired for this shit. He could barely keep up with Chris on a good day when it came to these verbal chess matches, and he'd been through the goddamned wringer today. Enough was enough.

"Fine. I'll put the datachips in your room so you can look at 'em whenever you want. I'm going to bed. You can clean up, or I'll do it in the morning. Good night, Chris."

***

The next few weeks were, for the most part, an awkward dance of avoidance punctuated by uncomfortable discussions. But -- there were also moments, even hours and days, where they'd slip into a rhythm -- talking, cooking, taking walks, or just being together in the same room, each doing their own work -- that felt so natural, so much like Leonard remembered, that it broke him again each time he crashed into the brick wall of Chris's skepticism.

Chris could be a ruthless bastard when it suited him, and he turned the full force of it on Leonard now, letting him get comfortable and then grilling him about details of their life together, how they'd met, where their first date had been, when they'd first fucked (Leonard winced at the callous way Chris flung that word out), what position it had been in, who topped, which of their friends knew they were together and when, what they'd done on each shore leave when Len was back on earth, and a million other details. Of course, since he was a human being, and not a walking computer, he screwed up, forgot things, contradicted himself, or just plain got a detail wrong in his telling, and Chris jumped on each of those with bitter triumph, holding it up as further proof that Leonard was just part of a conspiracy to "re-educate" him.

Leonard bore it with as much patience as he could muster, which wasn't much. Still, every time he wanted to tear into Chris, he reminded himself of how steadfast Chris had been when Leonard was the one lost and needing help, how Chris had never faltered, even when Leonard had been covered in his own piss and vomit, spitting at Chris that he didn't need his goddamned help and he certainly didn't need his goddamned pity.

He reminded himself of that once again now. They were sitting out on the back porch, watching the sunset, on an evening very like the one when Chris had proposed. Leonard was exhausted from another grueling session of answering Chris's questions, and wanted nothing more than to sit quietly and sip his bourbon without having to think at all.

No such luck. "Why do you love him?" Chris asked. It wasn't the first time he'd referred to his prior self in the third person, and Leonard kept trying to correct him, but of course Chris was just as stubborn as he was.

He snorted. "Sometimes I wonder myself." Then he contemplated the question seriously, sensing that it was more important than Chris was letting on.

"He -- _you_ \-- you have a way about you. It's hard to describe. An air of authority, maybe. Self-confidence."

"Power," said Chris with a cynical twist to his lips.

"No. I mean, all right, maybe that's part of it but -- no, that isn't what I meant. You made -- you make me feel safe. Protected. Cared for." Goddamn, this was embarrassing. But if it would help him get Chris back, he'd do worse than embarrass himself. "You're brilliant, of course, and gorgeous, and charming as all get-out when you want to be. Most of all, though, I know that you'd do anything for me. That if it was in your power, you'd never let anyone hurt me. That _you'd_ never hurt me."

"He did, though, didn't he?" There was something odd in Chris's tone, something Leonard couldn't quite place.

"What do you mean?"

"He hurt you. He _left_ you, Leonard. According to you, he held you in his arms when you'd just come back from the brink of death, and he told you that he would never leave you. He asked you to marry him, promised you forever. And then when Starfleet came knocking, he took off without a backward glance."

Leonard's hands had clenched into fists, his nails digging deep gouges into his palms. He wanted to tell Chris to go to hell, that he didn't understand, but the thing was -- he did understand. He understood all too well. And now he was continuing, soft and inexorable.

"You're furious at him. You feel betrayed. And you feel guilty for feeling that way, because after all, it was for the greater good. He sacrificed himself for the Federation. _Again._ But -- there had to be some other way, some other person who could've carried out the mission. He'd given enough to Starfleet already, and he'd made a commitment to you. But he didn't even think about saying no to them, did he?"

Leonard didn't reply. Couldn't.

"I don't blame you for being angry, for being hurt. I would be too, if I were you. But let me tell you something, Leonard. If I had something like you describe, that kind of love, I'd never let it go the way he did. There's always another way, another fool willing to step up and be the martyr, and I've got to say, I think that other Christopher Pike, if he ever existed, was too stupid to live, and he certainly didn't deserve your devotion. He didn't deserve _you_."

"Oh, and I suppose you think you do?" Leonard heard the bitter sarcasm in his own words, but Chris didn't react to it.

"Deserve you? No. I'm not a nice man, Leonard, or a good one. But at least I admit it. And whether or not I deserve you, I intend to have you."

With that, Chris left, and Leonard heard him climbing the stairs and closing his bedroom door. Leonard stared at the darkening sky full of stars -- beautiful, cold, and distant -- and it was a long time before he went in to bed, and longer than that before sleep found him.

\---

That night marked a sea change in their dealings with each other. Chris didn't try to debate Leonard anymore, didn't interrogate him or challenge his version of events. In fact, he just ignored the entire situation. Instead, he focused his considerable energy and attention on driving Len absolutely up the wall with frustrated longing. When they were cooking together in the kitchen, both moving around the space, he brushed up against Len far more often than was necessary. And at dinner, if one of them passed something to the other, Chris made sure that the touch lingered as long as possible. He treated Leonard to his impressive collection of smoldering glances, and through all of this, he smiled knowingly when Len flushed, or shuddered, or goose bumps rose up on his skin at Chris's touch. And he never tried to take it any further than that.

It wasn't fair, but then Chris had never been one to play fair. When he wanted something, he went after it by any means at his disposal.

So what the hell was he supposed to do now? He wanted Chris -- of course he did. He always had. He tried to maintain his distance, knowing that this wasn't "his" Chris, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. And the truth was that in so many ways, big and small, this _was_ his Chris. And in the dark of the desert night, when he was all alone in the bed that they used to share, he could admit, if only to himself, that he wanted this Chris too, even with the differences from the man he'd been before.

This Chris was darker, more dangerous than the other. The hungry way he looked at Leonard made him shiver in combined fear and lust. And he was absolutely single-minded in his focus and dedication -- well, that part was the same, but the subject of that focus had changed.

Before, Chris had been passionate about Starfleet and the Federation, about fortifying the UFP's position in the wake of the Narada engagement and the ripples it had sent through the entire quadrant. He'd spent more hours than Leonard could count meeting with the Admiralty, with diplomats from other worlds, with the captains of any ships that were currently in Earth orbit. He and his colleagues talked politics, they talked about espionage and potential military engagements, alliances they could forge, alliances that their enemies might be forging. Leonard had never been able to keep up with even half of the discussions that happened in their home. Most nights, he'd kiss Chris goodnight while Chris was still debating strategy with a visitor, or poring over the latest tactical reports from HQ. Chris had loved him -- of that, Leonard had no doubt. But he'd also never been in any doubt about where he stood in Chris's priority list relative to his Starfleet duties. He'd resented it, and he'd hated himself for resenting it.

It was all different now. This new Chris was bitter, jaded about Federation politics, and even more disenchanted with Starfleet, and he made no secret of those opinions. He certainly wasn't spending every waking moment thinking of ways to advance Starfleet's agenda, though at least he wasn't spending his time trying to destroy it either.

No, this Chris's obsession was with Leonard. And damn him for a selfish, greedy asshole, but he liked it. Hell, he loved it. He was absolutely helpless to resist it, and what's more, Chris perfectly well knew it.

Right now, they were sitting on the porch with a drink and a bowl full of fresh grapes they'd picked together in the greenhouse earlier that day. They both sat on the edge of the porch, the bowl between them, their fingers touching whenever they reached into it at the same time, accidental brushes turning into lingering caresses that left Leonard dizzy with the need for more.

There was a harvest moon tonight, hanging fat and orange at the edge of the horizon. It was getting on toward autumn, and Leonard shivered, more in the knowledge of the coming winter than because he was actually chilled.

Chris caught it, though -- he noticed everything about Leonard, these days. "Are you cold, Len? Want my jacket?"

His voice was pitched low, and it blended with the night instead of disturbing it. Len shivered again and this time it had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Nah, I'm fine. Just look at that moon, Chris. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

Leonard was looking studiously at the moon but he could see out of the corner of his eye that Chris was turned toward him. "No, I haven't," Chris said in a husky tone.

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me that corny line usually works."

Chris grinned, and Leonard couldn't help the answering smile that broke over his own face.

"I've never used it before," Chris said. "I'll let you know how it works out." And then he leaned toward Len, slowly enough that he could have pulled away, only that ship had sailed, long before tonight.

He'd thought about this, wondered how it would be, whether it would be like his first kiss with Chris had been, the birth of something sweet and new, or whether it would be like coming home, familiar and warm. It was neither of those things.

Instead, it flared up between them like a sun gone nova, and within seconds Leonard was on his back on the wooden porch, his hands buried in Chris's hair while Chris braced himself above Len on strong corded arms, his knees on either side of Leonard's hips. It was rough and desperate and fierce, and Leonard had never felt anything that could remotely compare.

Chris moved on to his neck, worrying the skin with teeth and tongue while Leonard threw his head back and moaned. Chris's hands were skimming up underneath his shirt, up his sides, pulling the material up and out of the way. He tugged and Leonard sat up enough that Chris could pull his t-shirt off and toss it to the side, and then they were kissing again, as if they wanted to consume each other alive.

Chris eased him back down, never parting their mouths, and now one of Chris's hands was cradling the back of Leonard's head while the other was exploring his torso, roughly thumbing a nipple, then moving across to the other side, fingers skimming over the chain around his neck, then pausing. Chris pulled back and Len made a whimper of protest at the loss.

Abruptly, Chris pulled his hand from behind Leonard's head and reared back as if he'd been burned. "What the fuck is _that_ ," he hissed, and it wasn't really a question.

Leonard's brain was fuzzy with lust, but it was rapidly receding as he took in the sheer fury on Chris's face. He followed Chris's line of sight to the distinctive chased-platinum ring that was lying on his breastbone, the chain gleaming in the bright moonlight.

"It's my ring," he offered, knowing it was inadequate but not understanding why.

"No, it's _my_ ring, or more accurately, it's my _father's_ ring. How the fuck did you get it?"

Leonard was confused as to what exactly was going on here, but he was starting to get pissed off. "How do you think I got it, Chris? You gave it to me when you asked me to marry you. You said it had been in your family for generations, and you never thought you'd find someone to give it to until you met me. Now what the hell is this about?"

Chris didn't answer, just wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, as if he was trying to scrub the taste of Leonard off of his lips. His eyes were haunted, and obviously something was seriously wrong but Leonard had no idea what. Chris stood and nearly stumbled, and that was even more alarming. Chris was grace incarnate. He never stumbled.

Leonard started to push himself to his feet. "Chris, whatever's going on, let's talk about it. Let me help."

" _No_. No. I need some time to think. I mean it, Leonard. Leave me alone right now." And with that strange pronouncement, he was gone, back into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom, the sudden silence eerie in the wake of his departure.

Leonard picked up his discarded shirt and made his way to his own bedroom. Whatever had happened, it was obvious that no answers were going to be forthcoming right now.

Two hours later, he was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was obvious that no sleep was going to be forthcoming right now either. The room was dimly illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the balcony doors, its glow now cool and silver-white, with the moon risen high into the sky, pale and untouchable.

He heard a tapping sound so faint that he might have imagined it, only he knew, somehow, that he hadn't.

"It's open," he said, his voice taut with sudden tension. After an endless moment, the knob turned and the door swung silently open. Chris was standing in the doorway, looking wrecked and haggard.

"It's all true, isn't it? Everything you've been telling me since we got here." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but in the silence it carried easily.

Leonard sat up and wrapped his arms around his bent knees. "Yeah, Chris. Yeah, it's all true."

"I'm sorry." Chris sounded broken, and Leonard was starting to get scared.

"Why are you sorry? You haven't done anything wrong. Good god, man, you're shivering. Are you cold? Come here, get into bed."

This, he could handle. Mother-henning was second nature. He stood, and pulled a strangely unresisting Chris into the bedroom, then got him tucked into the warm spot that Leonard had just vacated and covered him up with the down comforter. Leonard perched on the edge of the bed next to Chris and watched him with concern. Gradually, Chris's shivers subsided.

Finally, Leonard couldn't take the silence any longer. "Want to tell me what the hell is going on, Chris?"

Chris struggled to sit up and batted Leonard's hands away when he tried to keep him lying down. "For god's sake, I'm not an invalid yet, I can sit up in my own goddamned bed," Chris groused.

They both froze, looking at each other. Chris found his voice first, even if it was a bit shaky. "You used to say that, all the time, when you were sick. Right here, in this room. This bed."

Leonard nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Fuck, Leonard, I remember. You used to like to watch the sun set while I read to you. Walt Whitman. _Leaves of Grass_."

"Chris..." He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was happening. He was getting _his_ Chris back, just as he'd gone and fallen completely, irrevocably in love with the other Chris.

"God, it's like -- it's like bits and pieces. Like fragments of a dream after you wake up, and the harder you reach for them, the more they recede."

"It's all right, Chris. It doesn't matter. Take it easy."

"No, I won't fucking _take it easy_ , and of course it matters. You love him. You deserve to have him back, even if the prick doesn't deserve you."

"I love _you_ , Chris. Him, you, it's the same person." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Chris or himself.

"Bullshit. I've only just fallen -- gotten to know you, and already I know I wouldn't walk away from you the way he did. If you were mine, it would be a cold day in hell before I'd leave you. If Starfleet wanted me for a secret suicide mission, I'd tell them to go fuck themselves. Maybe that makes me dishonorable, or selfish, but I'd let the rest of the universe go to hell if it meant I could stay with you. In a heartbeat. Me, the Chris I am now, I could never be like him."

"So don't." Leonard wasn't sure where this sudden calmness had come from, but it was washing over him, sweeping away his fear. "Don't be him. Your memory's going to come back -- and I _want_ you to remember. It doesn't mean you have to be the same person you were before. Everything we go through changes us. I'm not the same person I was before the xenopolycythemia. Hell, I'm not the same person I was before these few weeks here with you. I love who you were, but Chris, I love who you are now." His voice trailed off into a whisper. "Maybe even more, god help me."

He looked into Chris's eyes, willing his face to show everything he felt. The anguished expression on Chris's face slowly eased, and then Chris was pulling him down, onto the bed, kissing him with even more desperation than he had earlier.

Leonard felt the urgency too. There'd be time for gentle, exploratory, getting-reacquainted-with-each-other's-bodies sex later, but right now, they both needed this.

Chris led the way, as he always did, but without any of his usual finesse. He got tangled in the covers and finally swept them off the bed entirely with a growl, pulling Leonard underneath him and grinding their groins together. Leonard gasped, and then Chris was tugging at his pajamas, trying to get him naked without breaking the press of their bodies. Leonard shoved at Chris's shoulder until he pulled back, and then made short work of his clothes while Chris stripped himself. Then they were pressing against each other, bare skin to bare skin, without a breath of air between them. There was no way Leonard was going to last long enough for anything elaborate. Hell, he didn't even want to pull away far enough to get a hand between them. So he wrapped his legs around Chris's back and rutted up against him, their cocks catching and sliding, all heat and friction.

Chris's breath came faster and he set up a rhythm, fast and hard. They panted into each other's mouths, not able to concentrate enough to kiss, and it was only moments before Leonard tensed and came, his semen easing the friction, and then Chris was coming too, hot and sticky between them.

Chris closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Len's while they both caught their breath. After a few minutes, Leonard reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand, intending to clean them up. Chris reached out, quick as a striking snake, and pinned his arm. "No, leave it."

"Chris, it'll dry and leave us stuck together. It's going to be damned uncomfortable when that happens."

Chris smiled and the predatory look on his face made Len shiver. "I don't care. I've claimed you, marked you, and I'm not letting you wash that off until morning. You're mine now. Not his, _mine_. Do you understand?"

Leonard traced one of Chris's elegant eyebrows with his forefinger. "Yeah, Chris. I understand."

"Good." Chris rolled them so that he was on his back, his arm wrapped around Leonard, pulling Leonard close against his side. Leonard opened his mouth, but Chris forestalled him with a finger over his lips. "Shh, Leonard. We'll talk about it in the morning. Right now I just want to lie here with you."

Leonard nodded against Chris's shoulder, relaxing into the feel of the familiar body next to his own. He slept easily and dreamlessly for the first time since Chris had gone away.

***

He woke suddenly, certain that he was going to find himself alone. But no, Chris was still there in bed with him, propped up on one elbow, looking thoughtfully at Leonard.

The room was too damn bright and he groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Make the sun go away, wouldja?"

Chris smiled, and without looking away from Leonard, said, "Windows, dim 90%." The relief was instant.

"Good lord, Chris, I didn't know the windows did that."

Chris looked smug. "I guess there's still a few things I know and you don't."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Whole libraries, I have no doubt."

Chris chuckled but then his face grew serious. "So."

Leonard grimaced. "Yeah. So."

"Before you ask, I'm still not _him_. I'm starting to remember more, though. This is... familiar. Waking up next to you, watching you sleep. It's not exactly a memory, though -- more like déjà vu, if that makes sense."

Leonard nodded, slowly. "Yeah, that does make sense. The pace of your memory recovery may increase, or it may not. There's just no way to predict it. What I can tell you, though, is that the memories _will_ return, I just don't know at what rate."

"That's what I figured. So tell me, Leonard, where do you want to go from here?"

Well, hell, that was a question no man should have to answer first thing in the morning without food and caffeine. He said as much and Chris smiled faintly.

"All right, then, let's go get some sustenance. But you're not getting off the hook that easily. We'll talk over breakfast."

Leonard grumbled but bowed to the inevitable. They each took a quick shower and then threw on some jeans. Leonard was about to pull a shirt over his head but Chris stopped him. "No, don't. I want to be able to see this," he said, touching the ring where it rested against Leonard's sternum.

His eyes were dark and possessive, and Leonard couldn't resist it. He stepped closer to Chris and pressed his lips to Chris's, winding his arms around Chris's neck. He had a feeling that Chris wouldn't object, and sure enough, Chris took control of the gentle kiss Leonard had initiated and turned it into something that left them both gasping.

Then, abruptly, Chris stepped back. "We'd better get downstairs now if you want breakfast. Otherwise I'm going to throw you on this bed again and have my way with you." His words were light; his tone was anything but.

The jolt of lust that shot through Leonard wasn't entirely unexpected, but still, it was stronger than he'd anticipated. He bit his lip, sorely tempted. But -- they needed to talk, more than they needed to fuck. Damn it. He motioned toward the door.

Once they were settled with coffee, toast, and eggs, Leonard felt more equipped to cope with life-changing conversations. A little.

"What made you change your mind? I mean, what was it that made you realize I was telling the truth?" That was a relatively innocuous place to start, and it was driving him crazy with curiosity.

"The ring," said Chris. "It's passed down from father to son in my family. I always knew that when I found the man I wanted to be with forever, I'd give it to him. You told me we were engaged, but you didn't have it, or I thought you didn't. So I thought you were lying."

"And then last night, when you saw it..."

"Yeah. Shocked the hell out of me. Made me re-evaluate everything I thought was true, and let me tell you, that's no easy thing. Now I have a question for you -- why are you wearing it around your neck? Why not on your finger?"

Leonard snorted. "Guess you don't remember that fight, then. I'm sure it'll come back -- it was a memorable one. You wanted me to. I said not until we were married. This was the compromise we eventually reached, and trust me, you were _not_ happy about it."

He hoped Chris would leave it there. Of course he didn't. "All right, but why didn't you want to wear it until you were married?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm an old-fashioned guy."

"No, that's not it. Or, that's not all of it," Chris said. Damn his perceptiveness. "Let me put forth a theory, and you can tell me whether or not I'm right."

Leonard nodded, reluctantly.

"You knew, somewhere deep down, that you weren't the most important thing in his life. That Starfleet was, and always would be. You knew the minute you put that ring on, you'd be giving up the last bit of your heart, and you weren't willing to give it to someone who didn't return it in full measure. You'd wear it if and when you actually got married, because you knew he took that vow seriously, and that if he ever married you, he'd be promising to put you first. But he wasn't willing to take that step. So you were at an impasse. Stalemate. Am I right?"

Leonard was pretty sure he was gaping. It stung like hell to have it all laid out like that, like love was a tawdry business deal, tit-for-tat, and he'd refused to give his all until Chris did first.

"Shit, Chris. I'm so sorry. I should've -- "

Chris cut him off with surprising vehemence. "No. You shouldn't have. You gave him..." he paused, swallowed hard. "You gave _me_ more than I deserved, and I gave you so much less than you did. I'm the one who should be sorry."

Leonard shook his head. They could go around and around like this for days and not get anywhere. "Let's just call it even, all right?"

Chris looked unconvinced, but he evidently saw the futility of arguing about it, so he nodded.

"It's in the past, anyway. We were both different people then. What matters is what we do now. And so, I've got to ask -- why did you want to cooperate with the Vulcan faction that was trying to destroy the Federation? And do you still feel that way?"

Chris shook his head. "To tell the truth, Leonard, I've got no idea why I wanted to bring down the Federation. I was so _angry_. It was like... a madness, a red haze, and I couldn't see or think about anything else. Implanted during the programming, I'm sure. But no, I don't feel that way anymore. Haven't in a while. Not since... well, not since you."

"So where do we go from here?" Leonard said.

"Hey, I asked you first," Chris returned, and there was levity in his voice but Leonard knew he wasn't going to give on this, wasn't willing to be the first to take a leap of faith.

Time to lay it out, then. "I want you, Chris. However I can get you, for as long as I can have you. Memories or not, induced personality changes or not, I love you." He shrugged. That was as clear as he could make it, and now it was up to Chris. "Now what about you?"

Chris fixed him with a look of frightening intensity. "I want everything, Leonard. Everything you have to give. I want your love, I want your hand in marriage, I want to spend our entire lives together, and if there's anything beyond death, I want to spend that with you too. And, ideally, I'd like to not spend all that time together under house arrest in the Mojave."

Leonard snorted. "That'll be up to a team of Starfleet psychologists, but I have no doubt they'll pronounce you sane and no longer a danger to society. And Chris -- I'll give you everything you want, everything I have, but I have to know -- are you going to give me the same in return?"

"If I say no, are you going to back out?" Chris sounded more curious than alarmed.

"No. No, I won't." It was the god's honest truth. "But I'll be happier if it's mutual."

Chris reached out and stroked a hand along Leonard's cheek, his jawline. "It will be, Leonard. It _is_. I promise."

"Let's go upstairs," Leonard said, his voice coming out a bit choked. He took Chris's hand and led him back up the stairs, into the bedroom.

A quick shuck of their jeans, and they were both naked. Leonard pressed Chris onto the bed and straddled his hips, leaning over him to kiss him. When Chris tried to turn the kiss into a duel for control, he pulled back. Several times he did this, until Chris finally relented and let Leonard set the tone.

Leonard needed this, needed to feel Chris's skin against his, but even more than that, he needed to reconnect with Chris. They needed to go slowly, feel their way to a new equilibrium between them. There'd be time for dominance games later.

He ran his hands over Chris's body, following up with lips and tongue. He spent plenty of time on Chris's chest, running his fingers through the soft gold and gray hair there, and licking and nibbling Chris's small nipples until they were tight buds and Chris was moaning softly.

He moved on to Chris's arms, kissing and kneading firm biceps, corded forearms, and strong capable hands, suckling each fingertip briefly. Then he moved his way down Chris's legs, kissing the hollow of each hip, trailing hands and tongue down taut thighs and calves. He planted a kiss on the sole of each long, elegant foot.

Chris was raising his head, watching Leonard's actions and holding himself perfectly still, even though it was obviously an effort. Leonard smiled at him and rewarded him with a kiss to the base of his cock and a quick swipe of his tongue across his balls. Chris groaned in response and spread his legs wider.

Leonard took the hint and went to work with his mouth, running the tip of his tongue down across Chris's perineum, around each testicle, then back up to his cock, which was pressing up against his abdomen, red and distended, clear drops of liquid forming at the tip and dripping down, one by one. Leonard took the tip of that beautiful, angry-looking cock into his mouth.

He'd had enough presence of mind to pin Chris's hips with his hands, but even so, Chris bucked so strongly that he nearly drove his entire length into Leonard's throat. Leonard pulled back as Chris moved, doggedly keeping just the head in his mouth, suckling it now, swiping his tongue across the tip every few seconds. Damn, he'd missed this taste, the way the slightly sharp flavor burst across his palate with every new drop that leaked out.

He moaned once and then got to work in earnest. He kept his eyes locked with Chris's, seeing the cords of Chris's neck strain as he fought gravity to keep his head upright so he could watch Len suck him. Leonard let his mouth make filthy, wet sounds as he sucked and licked and slurped. He was making a mess, drool escaping out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin, but if memory served, and it did, Chris loved that.

Chris was panting now, every muscle in his body tensed as he visibly fought not to let his control snap, to fuck Leonard's mouth hard and deep. Leonard released Chris's cock, and it slapped up against his belly with a wet smack. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Enough teasing, darlin'. I want you in me."

With that, he found himself flipped onto his back, Chris looming over him, now kissing him with unmistakable possessiveness. Chris broke away from the kiss to find the lube in the nightstand, then he was slicking up his fingers, pressing them into Leonard's puckered hole.

"Oh fuck," Chris breathed. "You're so tight."

Leonard rumbled a low moan. "Didn't do this while you were gone. Didn't put anything into my ass. Wanted to wait for you, wanted it to be your cock stretching me out. Didn't even use my fingers. I want to feel your cock inside me now. Don't care if it hurts. I want it to hurt. Come on, darlin', do it."

With a sharp intake of breath and a groan, Chris positioned himself and pushed in, slowly but with no hesitation. It was a long, slick, searing slide and Leonard cried out softly as Chris pressed forward. When Chris was completely inside of him, as deep as he could get, Leonard wrapped his legs around Chris's back and for a moment, just reveled in the feeling of oneness. "So good, darlin'. You feel so good. Missed this so much."

Chris said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes of tenderness and affection. He pulled out slowly, leaving just the head of his cock embedded in Leonard, and then pushed forward again, making both of them groan.

As if that had released something within him, Chris began pounding into Leonard, hard and fast, grunting a little with each stroke, and always keeping their eyes locked. He was babbling now, a semi-comprehensible string of endearments and curses. "Love you -- baby -- fuck, so good -- shit, I remember this, how good this feels -- touch yourself for me now -- yeah, baby, that's it, let me see you -- ah, so good -- fuck -- Leonard, mine, mine always, and I'm yours, never leave, swear it."

With that, Chris arched his back and came with a helpless moan, his hips spasming forward as he released himself deep inside of Leonard, filling him with wet warmth. A few more tugs on his own cock and Leonard was coming too, shaking with the intensity of it, his semen jetting out to spatter on his chest and stomach, a few drops hitting Chris.

Chris kept himself braced above Leonard, circling his hips forward gently as he softened, until neither of them could take any more sensation. Then he pulled out gently and leaned down to kiss Leonard, deep and slow and full of promise.

Finally he released Len's mouth and collapsed next to him, immediately pulling Leonard to press against his side. Leonard's come oozed between them, viscous and not altogether comfortable, but that was all right. Chris apparently now liked messy, sticky post-coital cuddles, and Leonard was perfectly willing to indulge him. He could feel Chris's come trickling out of his ass, and he clenched a bit to keep it inside for just a little longer.

"You said you remember this?" Leonard asked lazily, tracing a random pattern across Chris's chest.

"Hazily, yes. But -- I don't remember it being like this. This -- hell, Leonard, I don't even know what the word is. I don't remember feeling this connected, I guess, is what I mean. Was it -- was it like this before?"

Leonard shook his head against Chris's shoulder. "No, darlin', I don't think it was. It was amazing, don't get me wrong, better than I'd ever had before, but no, it wasn't the same as just now."

"Good," Chris said simply, and with that one word, Leonard could hear him releasing his doubt and fear that he wasn't good enough anymore, that Leonard would always regret that he wasn't who he had been.

Leonard was tired now, but he wanted to do one last thing before he fell asleep in Chris's arms. He reached around the back of his neck, fumbled with the clasp of the chain, and removed it. Chris tensed against him.

He slipped the ring off the chain and pressed it into Chris's hand. Chris's face was a stony mask.

Leonard spoke gruffly. "I want to wear it, now. Want you to put it on me."

Chris's face cleared instantly, and an expression that was relief, happiness, and just a touch of smugness came over his face. "With pleasure."

He took Leonard's hand in his, and slid the ring gently onto his finger. It felt right. It felt like it belonged there. Chris pressed a kiss to the ring, and then a longer one to Leonard's lips.

Settling his head back on Chris's shoulder, he rested his hand with its new, already-comfortable weight on Chris's chest, and Chris covered it with his own.

Leonard let go, then -- he surrendered himself, finally, drifting off to sleep in the circle of Chris's arms, with the warmth of a new day's sun gently washing over them both.


End file.
